Interviews
by BlaineWarbler
Summary: AU. Kurt is a writer for a small-but-respected journal publication. Blaine is a closeted A-lister about to be interviewed. Cooper is Blaine's very nerve-wrecked manager, trying to keep Blaine's secret under wraps for his career.


Kurt Hummel was on a mission. And he was _going_ to get his story.

"He might be unwilling to answer your questions if you push too hard," Charlie had warned.

"He'll answer," Kurt said with an unshakable confidence. His editor looked at him with an appraising eye.

"You're so…_cocksure_, aren't you?"

"That certainly would seem like the appropriate word." He leaned over the dark metal desk. "You know I always get my man."

The middle-aged man blushed and dropped his gaze to the papers on his desk, his thumb running over the ring on his left hand absently. "Yeah, well, let's just take one thing at a time. I know you're Pulitzer-bound, Hummel. But for now this piece with your name on it could really do something for your career."

Kurt tried to hide the annoyance threatening to pull down his brows. Kurt Hummel couldn't rock the angry look. He smoothed back his features. "I swear, it's like you're purposely trying to get me down today, Charlie. Can't you just be happy I scored this interview? It took _a lot_ of convincing."

The other man instinctively picked his head up and gazed straight across his desk, finding himself looking straight at Kurt Hummel's crotch.

"Eyes, Charlie," Kurt sighed. "Eyes are up here. On the face." Kurt rolled his eyes as his boss snapped back into reality and cleared his throat. "I don't sleep around, Charlie. _God_. Are you serious?" Charlie didn't even say the words—he must be really easy to read. Or maybe Kurt was just that good at reading people. "I just had to chat up his manager for a couple hours. His very _straight_ manager, thanks for not stereotyping me or belittling my work or anything."

Charlie sighed. "Kurt, it's not like that…Well, it is a little like that." Kurt huffed. "You're great in the office. Truly fantastic. The work you bring in? Excellent. And if I could just say, friend to friend—the clothes? The hair? The fact that you've shown up to every event with a different guy for the past three years?"

"What does it matter who I attend parties with? I'm the best writer here."

"Exactly, Kurt. We need you. But we also have to keep up appearances. Funding is low. We need to look strong."

"What _precisely_ are you trying to say to me? Because an English translation would be so wonderful right now." Goddamn, if he weren't their best, Charlie would never let him talk to him like this.

"Just…you don't have a partner or boyfriend, Kurt. You dress like you've just come out of a club—"

Kurt balked and threw a hand to his chest in horror. "I do not! This is _fashion_! Fashion, Charlie!"

"Just…make sure it comes from his own lips. That you don't…"

"What? That I don't _what_? Come on to him? I'm insulted. Just because he's hot?"

"Kurt, I'm just trying to cover all the bases here. You _know_ the political climate these days. We can't put a _foot_ out of line. It's getting tougher. Just, please. Even if he really _does_ turn out to be gay, don't hit on him. If he were concerned about his career, he could lie, he could say some damaging things about you," —_and the magazine_, he added mentally —"and I don't want to see you get hurt like that, Kurt."

"Well, I'm truly touched by your concern, but I have no desire to sleep with Blaine Anderson."

.

.

.

Cooper Anderson was pacing the room, again.

Why, why, _why_ had he granted that interview with the reporter from _Queer Sentinel Quarterly_?

God, his brother was so utterly _screwed_.

Blaine Anderson, however, seemed unconcerned as he sat on the couch, snacking on a bowl of grapes.

"You look stressed. Have some fruit," Blaine offered, holding up the bowl, his mouth full.

"No—no thanks," Cooper said softly, continuing to pace. After a moment, he turned around and faced his brother.

"Why are you so calm?"

"Because I have nothing to hide."

"_You have everything to hide!_" Cooper almost yelled, but kept his voice to a panicked whisper. Blaine just smiled.

"Relax. You know I would be nervous, too. But he's not going to ask me the gay question—you guys worked that out, right? So? It's a liberal political journal. I'm all for giving an interview. Didn't you say it would make me look like less of a goofball if I showed I cared about something?"

Cooper sighed and nodded.

"What are you so worried about?" Blaine asked. Coopers nerves were starting to affect him, and Blaine Anderson only held up as long as his confidence.

"I just want this thing to go off without a hitch, that's all. It could be great for your career. If you wanted to land some more meaningful roles, this might be your ticket. Get the image of you as the teeny-bopper hearthrob out of everyone's heads. I mean, you_ are_ pushing 30."

Blaine laughed. "I'm 27, Coop!"

"Old enough to father children."

"You know you're a little ridiculous sometimes?"

Cooper waved off the comment. "Listen, this isn't going to be like your interview with _People_, or _Out_,or _Details_. This guy's not going to come with a camera crew. He's not going to come with photographers. It's just him and a little note pad and recorder. You're going have to be on your game."

"You've already told me this, Coop. Can you just clear out so I give my interview and get back to the studio?" Blaine had wanted to lay down a new track for his upcoming album today. Who knows if he'll even get to it with Coop harassing him all morning about a really short interview that won't even be televised.

"I'm not kidding, squirt. You better be on your guard with this guy. I looked him up. He's tough shit. Aggressive. You know he interviewed the Vice President?"

"Impressive," Blaine nodded.

"You are _so_ not taking this seriously enough…"

"I don't have to say _anything_ about my love life," Blaine said curtly, and then sighed. "As if there was anything to _tell_." His head lolled back onto the sofa. Cooper came around and patted his shoulder consolingly.

"A couple more years, bro. A couple more movie deals, another record, another tour… Then you're _out_, I swear. Five years, tops."

"_…five years, tops_," Blaine mumbled dully.

Cooper walked to the door. "He should be here in a half hour. Try not to give yourself away."

"Mmm," Blaine mumbled. He felt like he was losing his edge. Being reminded that he wasn't actually free to be who he was drained him of his energy.

"And bro?" Blaine looked up. "Have fun."

.

.

.

This _could not_ be the guy Cooper had been talking about.

He certainly didn't look like he was the head writer for one of New York's most prestigious and award-winning publications.

He looked like he just came out of a high-end catalog—tight, tight, tight skinny gray and black two-tone jeans, black leather belt with a large metal designed buckle. A muted periwinkle button-down rolled up and exposing most of his forearm, and a fitted gray vest with a faded pinstripe design.

Yeah. He didn't look like he was about to interview someone. He looked like he was going on a date.

Blaine shook the thought from his mind.

He was taller than Blaine, perhaps a little wider in the shoulders. But he was lithe and confident—yes, his confidence was infectious. It radiated off of his perfect porcelain skin. And his eyes. _Jesus_. Blue and intense and…staring right into his. Blaine gulped down on nothing and tried to hide his discomfort. This might be a little more difficult than he initially thought. Cooper was right—he had to stay on his guard.

Blaine and Kurt started the interview.

"Hi Blaine," the man greeted warmly, as if they were already friends. Cooper had let him in and sat him on the couch opposite Blaine before leaving. And God, but did Kurt ever have a _view_: Hollywood's most eligible bachelor. Billboard's Hot 100 hottie. Dressed in black, black, black, his hair dark and styled so perfectly, his dark curls freed across his forehead. _God_, he was a beautiful man.

Kurt kept his composure though. This story was important. _Blaine_ was important—in a way. Celebrities were revered. Next to politicians, their opinions mattered most. If someone as popular as Blaine could just come out 100% in support of gay rights and other progressive legislation, it almost wouldn't matter if he came _out _at all.

But that's the story he was here for. And he was going to get it.

"I hear your working on a new album," Kurt prompted. Blaine sat forward, his eyes lighting up and his mouth turning from pleasant smile to a grin. God, he loved talking about music. He almost didn't want to get into the movie industry—it had always been his brother's dream. But when Coop decided that Blaine had a better chance of making it than him and poured every ounce of (seeminly limitless) energy into making Blaine a star, the younger brother couldn't possibly turn him down when he mentioned acting in a few movies. And, he did love acting. He just loved the music more.

"Yeah, yeah! It's coming along great. Fantastically. I've been working on it for the past six months. I can't wait till its finally _out_."

"Neither can I," Kurt said softly. He wanted to kick himself. That wasn't what he wanted to say. And it made it sound like he was talking about something completely different, something he specifically told his manager that he would not talk about. "I'm somewhat of a fan," he added coyly, saving himself. _I'm not coming on to him, Charlie. This is me saving my ass_, he thought bitterly.

Blaine felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. The way this man—Kurt—had said it…everything he said sounded so _sinful_. Was he flirting with him? Blaine was a little out of practice, but…yes. Yes. Kurt was definitely flirting with him. A feeling of pride swelled up within him. Of course, gay men hit on him all the time. It was nothing new. He just had to act the straight man.

"I'm honored, Kurt," he said with a play-wink. Oldest trick in the book. Always be acting. Then they'll never see the real you. Play to your audience and make them putty in your hands.

But Kurt seemed unfazed. "You were in Glee Club in high school, the appropriately cast lead of the all-boys acapella group. How do you think your time at Dalton Academy influenced your career?"

Blaine thought he knew where Kurt was going with this. Much of his life had already been public knowledge, so it didn't surprise him when Kurt kept whipping out fact after fact about his life as if he'd lived it. Blaine got over the shock of his fans knowing the hour he was born years ago. But this was something else.

"Having the chance to study at Dalton was incredible. They really care about arts education. It's easier for private schools to get funding, which I find really unfortunate. The Warblers was a perfect stepping stone into my career. There are always music industry scouts at national and sometimes regional competitions. It's a great opportunity for kids to show their skills. I was always kind of a nervous kid, but being part of a team, singing in front of hundreds of people—that kind of preparation really helped me find a career in music. It was what I loved."

Kurt smiled. He could relate. He'd always loved his Glee Club in high school. Though they drove him crazy sometimes, they had been his family. He still kept in touch with several friends from those days. But, he had to stick on-task. No sense getting nostalgic now. "And what made you decide to attend Dalton Academy? You transferred in halfway through your freshman year. What made you decide to leave public school?"

Kurt's eyes were trained on him. Blaine started to get nervous. This was moving farther away from the music. He knew what Kurt wanted—for him to talk about the disadvantages of public school and their lack of arts funding. But he felt compelled to tell the truth. He had been planning to give that answer, but a split second after hearing the question, he instantly blurted, "I got in a fight."

Kurt paused, his mouth open, as if he was ready to ask another question. Evidently, he was not.

No, not a fight. It would be very bad for him to look like a bully. He didn't want to be the victim, either, but if he had to be something, it couldn't be the agressor. And he already came this far. "I was beaten up, actually. Pretty bad. For…"_ lie. Lie to him_. "For being in Glee Club."

Kurt nodded softly. He could understand that, of course he could. "Children can be cruel," he added, knowingly. How many times had he been thrown in the dumpster? How many times did have cold colored ice splashed across his face? How many times had his books been knocked out of his hands by a jock? All for doing something that he loved and for being himself.

"Children aren't naturally cruel," Blaine added. "We've all been indoctrinated. _Everyone's better than everyone else_. There's always this…constant need to fight each other. Its almost inherent in our culture. Parents telling their kids they can't do what they love because it's not practical or they might get hurt, when really not doing anything at all is the most damaging."

Seriously?_ Seriously? _Did that just come from the mouth of a popstar? Kurt felt his heart flutter. _No. Stay on it. _He cleared his throat.

Blaine continued. "The school I went to has a zero-tolerance no-bullying policy. Frankly, I still have no idea why more schools don't have this. Everyone was on equal footing at Dalton. My parents…didn't want to keep sending me to public school when Dalton seemed to have everything I needed. What all kids should have access to: a learning environment that doesn't breed constant persecution by their peers or adults."

Kurt nodded stupidly along to Blaine's words. Damn. This guy knew how to talk. He was smart, beautiful _and_ talented. It just wasn't _fair_.

"Your music really speaks to people," Kurt continued, clearing his voice. "You have a very broad audience. Many consider you to be the most accessible artist today. And yet you still manage to push boundaries. What's your inspiration?"

Blaine smiled at the compliment. "Well, thank you. But I'm no Lady Gaga. I just…try to see the world for what it is, and try to emulate that when I write my music. It also doesn't hurt I write catchy pop tunes," he laughed. Kurt chucked softly along with him. Blaine would be damned if it wasn't the single most adorable thing he'd ever heard.

"But, really? I don't know. I can't account for it. I'm…so…incredibly thrilled that I even _have_ fans. They mean everything to me. They keep me going, keep me writing and composing. _They're_ the inspiration."

From anyone else, it would seem corny, and a cop out. But from Blaine Anderson? It was only the simplest of truths.

The questions continued like that, Kurt often tying in Blaine's adventures in the film industry and his musical career to political campaigns, legislation, and topics of the day.

"The president really needs to start taxing the hell out of me. Seriously. I'd rather have better programs for those out-of-work rather than a new outfit to wear on the red carpet. I have enough of those already."

Kurt almost blushed. He felt like an idiot. Sure, he lived in his small apartment in Brooklyn and probably didn't make an eighth of what Blaine did, but he was comfortable and happy and never wanted for anything, especially fancy new designer apparel. Blaine himself was dressed up, but Kurt knew it had to be part of his appearance—pop stars had an image to maintain.

And, despite his discomfort, he felt himself falling a little for the handsome celebrity. _Damn it. Focus, Hummel!_

After a few more questions, Kurt smiled and put down his notebook. "I hope you're familiar with _QSQ_ spitfire? It's the fluffiest piece of the interview—just a little "getting to know you" on the side panel of the article. Just respond with some short answers, less than 15 seconds or so. It's a very small little bar. We're not too good with the meaningless jibber-jabber, but it is kind of fun for readers. What do you say?"

Blaine shrugged with a smile on his face. The interview was going great so far. And it was nearly over.

"Alright. These will be fast. The first answer you can think of is usually the right one."

Blaine looked him in the eyes, trying to lock their gazes. He knew he had to make sure Kurt wasn't going to pull a fast one on him and ask him if he was gay. As if reading his mind, Kurt huffed out a response:

"You have nothing to be concerned about. That's not why I'm here." Blaine nodded.

"Okay. I'm ready."

Kurt looked down at his list, as if he didn't already have all his questions memorized. "Favorite food."

"Uhh, my mom's squash soup," Blaine said quickly. Not too sophisticated, but it will do.

"Favorite movie."

"Ooooh…uhh," _look smart_, he thought. But he just smiled, "too difficult!"

Kurt smiled. "Favorite board or card game."

"Apples to Apples."

"Politic."

"Progressive independent."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and smirked but continued down his list.

"Allergies."

"Penicillin."

"First job."

"Busboy."

"Actor/Actress you'd love to work with."

"Cameron Diaz."

"First boyfriend."

"Sebastian Smythe."

For a half second, Blaine didn't realize his error.

And then he saw Kurt's eyes widen.

.

.

.

He was caught. He knew he was caught.

Fuck, he was _CAUGHT_.

And yet all he could think about was how Cooper was seriously going to murder him.

He sat there, a little dazed, as the handsome, tricky journalist quickly collected his items and tossed them in his bag. He stood up and reached a hand over the coffee table separating the two couches. "Thank you for your time, Mr. Anderson. It was a wonderful interview, and great meeting you."

Blaine took his hand without thinking and shook it, an automatic reaction that came with the gesture. But his mind was racing.

How the hell were his hands so soft?

_Shit. FOCUS. This guy is screwing you over. You can't let him do this._

Kurt was heading for the door, obviously showing himself the way out. But Blaine caught up to him in a heartbeat.

"How much to not run it?" he asked, breathless.

"I can't _not_ run the article, Blaine. I've worked hard on it. The interview is just supplementary, really."

"Please, Kurt," Blaine's heart was feverish, beating maniacally. _Keep him here, don't let him leave. Don't let him publish this. _"How much to run it just…without the last question?"

"Ahh," Kurt said, as if he had no idea what they were talking about. "Well. I'm sorry, but I can't be bought," Kurt said, hand reaching for the door handle. Blaine grabbed, his hand bracing the other man's naked wrist. Kurt's breath caught in his throat.

"_I_ can be bought. Buy _me_." His voice was gruff, lowered, his eyes trained on Kurt's.

_Oh God_, he was beautiful. Every bit as devastatingly beautiful as those flashing advertisements of his album on Time Square. The one that was just a close up of that glorious face. Of that seductive, intense expression. The one that was now fixed on Kurt. And it was so much more than just that. Something else entirely…

_No_. He had come so far. He wan't going to compromise his article. Not now.

He pulled out of Blaine's grasp, looking down at the ground. "I'm sorry, Blaine. The article will be published in next month's edition. Goodbye."

And with that, he was gone. And Blaine stood, frozen, in the Manhattan apartment.

What. The fuck. Happened.

.

.

.

Kurt had to run the story. _Had_ to. It was too important.

A major celebrity, in the spotlight for nearly a decade, now coming out as gay and in support of everything good and right and decent in the world?

It had to run.

Never mind what Kurt thought about outing. It was wrong, he knew it was wrong. But Blaine had marched on Washington in '16. He had made White House appearances, had eaten with royalty. Traveled the world to advocate human rights, and he was a fucking _pop star_. He had fought for workers rights and understood the reality of class warfare, despite always having come from money and never once understanding what those people had to go through. All he knew was that it was _wrong_.

And it wasn't Kurt's fault they lived in conservative America, that the country's politics and human rights had taken a turn for the worst after the latest election. That during the past ten years the country had started to slide backward under increasingly problematic legislation. They needed advocates. Strong ones. And maybe he had to play dirty to get them, but Blaine would thank him for it. Eventually. He would be free. He wouldn't have to lie or hide who he was.

Why shouldn't a man like that come out? He would be an inspiration. He would show everyone that people are equal, that it doesn't matter whether someone's gay or straight or living on the North Pole, for Christ's sake.

But if it didn't matter, why was he still going to out him?

_._

_._

_._

_"Shit. Shit.__** SHIT**__."_

"Calm down…"

"How the _hell_ am I supposed to calm down, Coop? He's going to run the story—he told me!"

"Yes, and we're trying to get the editor on the phone and we're going to deal with it. I promise, Blaine. Everything was fine except for the last bit, we can get them to not use it in the article."

Blaine was running his hands through his hair nervously. It was his turn to pace.

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck…" Blaine muttered.

"…would you like some fruit?"

Blaine looked disgusted. "No, I don't want _fruit_, Coop. I want this to _end_."

"And it will!" Cooper said, coming over to his brother and putting a reassuring hand on his back. "I promise! That last bit won't run! And it won't look like you're trying to hide anything. The article will be excellent, and we'll have another five years to get your career where it needs to be before you come out to the world."

"What if I don't want to wait another five years?" Blaine snapped.

Cooper froze, uncomprehending. His hand on Blaine's back stilled. He looked at his brother almost unbelieving what he was hearing. Of course, Blaine didn't want to hide who he was. Who would? But this was the real world, and Blaine _knew_ what he had to lose, and what he had to gain, by playing it straight. And the gains had for _years_ outweighed the loses.

"What's this about?" Cooper questioned softly, his hand dropping.

Blaine looked at him, crushed and defeated. Just like the time he had sung to that Jeremiah guy at the Gap, and he had turned him down. He looked positively _heartbroken_.

"I have everything I want," Blaine said softly. "Money, fans, movie deals, a label that won't drop me for anything…why can't I be _happy_, too?"

It crushed Cooper to hear him. Despite Blaine being an adult, he was still his little brother in every way. The urge to protect him from the world was strong. But was he really doing him any favors making him stay in the closet?

Coop shook his head. "I don't know what you want me to do, Blaine. What do you want me to do to?"

Blaine shrugged. He had no idea. All he really wanted to do today was go to the studio. That certainly wasn't going to happen.

"I'm going to bed," Blaine sighed, and walked off. "You do what you need to do."

.

.

.

Kurt stared at his cell phone. Charlie gave him the number, kept telling him he had done everything right, and now it was his call whether or not to publish his article.

His fingers trembled as he tapped in the number. The phone buzzed more than a couple times before anyone picked up. "Hello?" came a tired voice.

"Blaine?"

"Who's this?"

"It's Kurt Hummel. From_ Queer Sentinel_. I wanted to talk to you about your interview from last week."

A sigh. "Run it."

Kurt's breath hitched. "Really?" He couldn't tell if he was truly excited, or just surprised. "Are you sure you don't want to think it over? Sleep on it?"

"I _have_ been sleeping on it. For 9 years. I'm _done_."

"Blaine, I—"

"No, it's…it's okay. Really. I know this must be important for you, and I know with everything going on right now…coming out would make a difference. For a lot of people."

_For my career, too. Fucking selfish,_ Kurt thought to himself bitterly. "I don't want to publish that piece of the article, Blaine."

There was silence. "You…don't?"

"That's what I called to tell you. I don't want to run it."

"Why?"

"I…I don't like outing people. I don't think it's right. No matter the difference they could make. It would hurt you. And you're a great guy, Blaine. The best. I'm sure whenever you decide to tell the world, it will be the best time."

Again, more silence. It seemed as if Blaine was struggling with something. "Then don't use it. But…a year. Give me a year, and I'll give you an exclusive. I'll come out in the '_Sentinel_. You can write it."

Kurt almost laughed. It was ridiculous. Why would Blaine do that? Even if he did want to come out, why his magazine? He could have sold this story to any magazine. Sure, it would give so much attention to the _Queer Sentinel_, which due to it's lack of focus on the heinous outfits of diva pop sensations and, instead, intense scrutiny of politics, wasn't very popular in the mainstream. But this would be _insane_. "You—you don't need to do that."

"Yes, I do. I respect the journal. I know you're a fantastic and well-respected writer. You could do it justice. And I _do_ want to come out…eventually. Maybe not next month, but I don't want to wait another half decade, either. And…I want to date. I want to go on a **proper** date with someone."

Kurt's heartbeat started to thrum faster and faster. _Relax, it's not as if he's talking about you. Calm yourself, Hummel._

"That seems…very well thought out. And reasonable. Obviously you deserve to be happy."

"…_Exactly,_" Blaine breathed.

"Well then, Mr. Anderson. I think we've worked out a pretty solid arrangement," Kurt said in a tone both playful and professional.

"I think there's just one other thing…" Blaine said, hesitating.

Kurt bit his lip. What could he want? What wasn't Kurt offering? Was this a big joke? Was Blaine just toying with him? Was he backing out?

"I'll only let you interview me next time if…yougoonadatewithme."

"…sorry?" Kurt asked.

Blaine breathed. "Go on a date with me."

This could not be happening. This could not be happening.

"Where?"

Oh my god.

"How about yours?"

Kurt felt like screaming into his phone. No way this could be happening. No way. None.

"Sure, sounds good." God, his voice was so clear and cool and confident. He was overjoyed his tone didn't betray the madness in his mind right now.

"Friday? 8? I'll bring takeout?"

"Sure. See you then."

This was happening. This was real. This was life.

An incredibly handsome man who just happened to also be a movie star and a Grammy-winning musician was coming to his house. For a date. He could almost kiss Charlie for allowing him this assignment.

But most of all, he was _finally_ optimistic about the future. If a man like Blaine Anderson was not only willing to show the world who he really was, but to do so through a journal that mattered, and with Kurt at his side? That was something else. That was something like magic.

No, it _was_ magic.

.

.

.

Blaine hung up the phone, and smiled.

Oh, he'd probably regret it in the morning. Cooper probably wouldn't be too thrilled about the decision he'd come to.

But he couldn't help it.

For the first time since stepping onto that stage with the Warblers, he felt like he had finally come home.

_He finally felt happy being Blaine Anderson._


End file.
